Drunken Nights
by Celtsarr Vicciniac
Summary: This is a trial story, to see if people like it. A mercenary with a troubled past gets up in the civil war. The Imperials have given him a simple choice: kill or be executed for his crimes. Nobody would have ever guessed that he would be their savior. The blood of dragons stains his family tree but he knows nothing about his heritage.


**Once again, hello guys. I've had several ideas bouncing around in my head for quite some time. Due to the recent lack of attention that my actual story is receiving, I've decided to post a couple of one shots. If people like them, they may turn into stories themselves. Anyway, this one here is gonna have a few more chapters regardless. I think I've held you up long enough so just go on ahead and read it. Peace.**

**Ch. 1: Drunken Nights**

Thunderous applause echoed across the lonely streets of Solitude. For the few soldiers on the night shift, they glared at the local tavern as they passed it by. But for those inside, the world was completely different.

The tavern reeked of ale and sweat but it was cozy and warm, essential for a bar in Skyrim. The province was well known for its cold and the city of Solitude was in the midst of winter. Scattered across the large pub were various crowds of strange people. You had bards singing merry tales in the corner, merchants discussing their business of the day at the bars, even adventurers and treasure hunters boasting of their finds at tables. One such table was nearly overturned as one of its inhabitants shot to his feet.

"I'm telling you dammit, I know what I saw!" the Nord yelled. He was tall, typical of his race, and clad in banded iron armor. His beard was scarlet and preluded his fiery temper well. Another of inhabitants waved their hand in front of his face.

"Relax, Unjorn. We believe you. We're just skeptical of the fact that you actually saw it." Unjorn's brow knitted as his chest expanded, obviously prepared to state his claim in even more boisterous manners. "After all, it's not every day that you catch a giant humping his beloved mammoth." Even now, the image sent shivers of laughter around the table. Unjorn seemed to calm himself for he slowly eased himself back into his chair.

"So tell us, Dragonblood, what have you been up to lately? Been awhile since we've seen you in here." The same man asked a third at their table.

The man in question, who had previously been downing his mead quietly, turned his head to the speaker. His eyes alone demanded attention. They were a bright shade of the bluest of blue, sparkling in the flickering light with the same awe inspiring quality that stars had as they twinkled. His hair, golden and hanging, was lush with the color and soft to the touch. His face held a rugged handsomeness and his lips were parted in a crooked smile. How such a man, obviously made by the gods to be a lady killer, became a near famous mercenary was a long story indeed.

"Nothing really." Dragonblood spoke, his voice matching his appearance and making the two ladies at the table cast him an interested eye. Undoubtedly, he could bed them both tonight but for now such thoughts were beyond him. "Been on a mission for the last month."

"What kind of mission?" one of the ladies asked. Dragonblood's smile widened as he turned towards the two women.

"Funny you should ask, ma'am. It was actually issued to me by a woman much like yourself." At her inquisitive brow he went on. "Beautiful, I mean." The men at the table groaned while the lady blushed, Unjorn finally forcing the man to go on. "We were clearing out some old ruins near Winterhold. She claimed there was a family heirloom there and needed a bodyguard. I just so happened to be available. Long story short, we didn't find what she was looking for. Even worse, on our way out, one of those damned Draugr showed up. The ruin was supposedly cleared of them ages ago. We weren't expecting it and it got the drop on us. Took her head clean off before I knew it was there." He sipped on his mead some more before resuming his speech. "Damn shame, she was quite the looker."

The table was silent for a moment before the sound of the doors being thrown open turned all of their attentions towards it. A squad of Imperial legionaries entered, the bar growing quieter as they moved to their seats. No one in Solitude minded the Empire really, but you still became nervous around their soldiers, especially when they came to a pub in full Legion armor. Unjorn quietly muttered something under his breath as the soldiers sat down.

"What was that, Unjorn?" the unnamed man at the table spoke.

"I said I can't stand those Imperials, strutting around like they own the place." As his companions moved to quiet him, one soldier suddenly stood. He moved to the table and sat down unceremoniously.

"Might I remind you, sir," Dragonblood could smell alcohol on the man's breath. "That Solitude is in fact an Imperial built and controlled city. It is the capital of the Empire's influence in Skyrim." Unjorn glared at the soldier. Things were fixing to get ugly, both men had had too much to drink.

"But this is Skyrim, home of the Nords. You can't impose yourself upon us, not after the war. You abandoned us, gave our beliefs to the Thalmor!"

"It was the only way to end the war." The soldier said through gritted teeth. Dragonblood noticed the other soldier's standing up. Unjorn snorted.

"If the Empire can't even defeat a few trumped up elves, what hope do they stand against true Nords?"

The soldier had heard enough and suddenly lunged across the table. His fist, thankfully free of its gauntlet, struck Unjorn across the temple. Dragonblood, prepared for such an outcome, tackled the soldier almost immediately. Dimly, he could make out the sound of fights breaking out all over the tavern. Empire worshippers rushed to the aid of the soldiers while those who remained fought them. Dragonblood blocked it all out as he hammered his fist into his opponent's skull.

The soldier was well trained and thrust his hips upwards and to the side, breaking Dragonblood's clumsy mount and sending the Nord tumbling. An armored boot in his side sent him into one of the tables. He felt the soldier grasp him by his collar and drag him to his feet. He tried to swipe the man's face but missed horribly and got decked in the jaw for his trouble. Only the intervention of Unjorn saved him from further beating. Unjorn sent the Imperial to his knees as the large Nord hammered his fist into poor sod's back. Dragonblood winced as he heard the cracking of steel.

Unjorn was allowed no rest however. As he moved in to capitalize on the downed soldier, one of the other bar attendees blindsided him. Dragonblood rolled to his feet and looked around for other attackers. He ducked a meaty fist as a slob of a Breton jabbed at him. His own fist collided with the man's gut with enough force to lift him off of the ground. He left the fat man to sink to his knees as he moved on to the next fight.

As he locked arms with a smaller Redguard, he heard the sound of the door slamming open again. This time, he heard the yells of the city guard and the sound of wooden practice swords thumping onto flesh. The Redguard tried to headbutt him but Dragonblood pulled his head away. He threw the man's hands off of him and locked his own behind his opponent's neck before bringing the face to meet his knee. He pushed the Redguard aside as he turned his attentions to the guards. They would surely attempt to arrest every single person in the bar for disturbing the peace. With his track record, Dragonblood would be spending several days in jail; in fact, he wasn't even supposed to be here now.

A guard rushed him, wooden sword held high overhead. Dragonblood ducked the eager swipe and tossed the guard over his shoulder. He spun and forced his leather boot into the man's gut. The rookie dropped his sword as he clutched his stomach in pain. Dragonblood shook his head as he hefted the heavy wood. Recruits nowadays were poorly trained it always seemed, only the experienced survived long as city guards.

With wooden blade in hand, Dragonblood flung himself fully into the conflict. He smacked a poor soul aside with his stick and used the momentum to launch his foot into another guard's gut, producing the same reaction as before. He twirled around as he brought the sword down on the exposed neck, producing a meaty whack as wood met flesh. The guard cried out as he dropped to the floor. Dragonblood had already moved on to the next guard. Two swift blows were turned aside before Dragonblood tripped the guard with his blade. A whack to the back of the leg as he sidestepped a swing was all the opening he needed and soon, the guard joined his fellows on the polished floor.

Dragonblood by now had moved remarkably closer to the doors. He also wasn't the only one who had had the idea of fighting back. Several others had also pushed their way to the doors. Dragonblood ducked a drunkard's clumsy hook and jabbed his wooden sword into his gut. He brought the replica hilt around and smashed the man aside with a blow to the temple without even breaking stride. After a few more of these quick brawls, he finally reached the doors. He flung them open and threw his sword back into the bar behind him before taking off at a run. He never made it more than three paces before he felt himself slam into something cold and hard. Cursing, he slowly looked up from where he had fallen on his ass only to see a squad of Imperial legionnaires. He could almost feel his chances blow away.


End file.
